


A Marked Difference

by chezamanda



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Barebacking, Begging, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, First Time, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chezamanda/pseuds/chezamanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint catches a glimpse of something on Natasha's body that he never expected to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Marked Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2012 Round 5 [Tattoos/Tattooing + Begging]. Thanks to Eiluned for all the hand holding and beta work. Not my characters, just borrowing them and making them do unspeakable things to each other.

Natasha had a tattoo.

Ever since Clint had gotten a glimpse of the small circle of black on her left hip, he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. It was too quick to get a good look at the design because she was changing out of her suit after a mission. Nothing in her file mentioned the tattoo, so he assumed it had to be a recent addition. Even though he had seen her undressed a few times in the past, he never saw the tattoo. That was something he would have definitely remembered. Natasha didn’t seem the type to get a tattoo on a whim, or at all. So what the hell was it?

Two weeks later, Clint was still obsessing over the idea of his partner having a tattoo hidden beneath her clothing. His mind turned over that black design - what he had been able to make out - in an attempt to figure out what it was and what it meant to Natasha. The placement of it - on the front of her left hip, falling right where the hem of her pants would be - took his thoughts in another direction. He frequently imagined his fingers trailing along the hem of her tank top, pushing up the fabric so they could run over the tattoo. His tongue traced the mark in his fantasies. He would have to get down on his knees in front of her or lay between her spread thighs to be able to mouth at the tattoo. He imagined that her skin would be soft there, softer than anywhere else on her body.

Clint imagined her laid out on a black leather table in the back room of a tattoo parlor, shirt bunched up beneath her breasts with her pants and underwear pushed down just enough to reveal that area without being completely exposed herself. Knowing her, Natasha would watch everything the artist did - cleaning the patch of skin with alcohol and applying the template first. She’d want to see how they loaded the ink into the gun and how they applied the gun to her, but she had to lay back down to keep the skin taut as the artist set the design into her skin. 

Tattoos so close to the bone tended to be painful - even though she had a high pain threshold, she would still react, mouth hanging open as she breathed through the sharp, reverberating sensations going through her. A quiet gasp would fall from her lips when the feeling was too much, but she remained still. When it was over, the tiny amount of blood and excess ink cleaned away, she would stand and inspect the artist’s work in a full length mirror. Her mouth would turn up at the corner, impressed with the artist’s good work, and she would remember exactly how they told her to care for it before she returned to her apartment. Every time she saw her naked reflection in a mirror, she would smile to herself and run her fingers over the tattoo.

Clint took the elevator down to the training floor to get himself out of his head for an hour or two. He had to stop obsessing over Natasha like this - she was his partner and would probably kick his ass all over New York for perving on her like he had been doing that week. As fate would have it, just as he strolled into the main gym, he found Natasha working out on the mat. She took a running start before inverting herself and springing off the mat with both hands. Her body rounded itself as it turned over and she landed perfectly on both feet, arms out at both sides to keep her balance. So much for getting Natasha off his mind.

“Hey,” she said a little out of breath, walking over to him.

“Hey.”

“Glad you came down here. I wanted to spar with somebody. Seeing as Bruce is the only other person home and I want to remain in one piece... what do you say?” she asked with a playful smirk that completely melted his resolve.

“Yeah alright,” Clint replied. “Just go easy on the thigh chokeholds, Romanoff.”

“No promises, Barton.”

They fell into their usual sparring moves - ducking and rolling away from each other, feinting one direction before going another, pinning the other back against the mat and then shoving them off to get back into the fight. He couldn’t get a good grip on her for very long, she was too fast or perhaps he was just distracted. Hooking her legs over his shoulders, Natasha flipped him onto his back and held him beneath her. He stared up at her in a slight daze and felt his eyes widen when he spotted the tattoo on her hip. Her clothes had moved just so that it was exposed. Now Clint could see that it was a duplex crosshairs with small triangles on the end of each of the thick, inner lines. Arrows.

Natasha caught his eye for a moment, looking a little spooked, and rolled off of him. Clint pulled himself into a seated position. “Tasha, what is that?” he asked.

“You know what it is,” she replied, her eyes fixed to a spot on the ceiling, looking like a child that had been caught doing something she knew she shouldn’t.

Clint made a careful move toward her. “Tell me why it looks like that, please, Tasha.”

Natasha remained quiet, neutral, but Clint could see the gears turning in her head. He knew that she was analyzing the situation and its possible outcomes, she never moved without thinking first. She wanted to be sure of herself, but in a situation like this nothing was ever certain. Clint reached over and placed his hand over hers and saw the tension in her shoulders relax. Natasha looked at him.

“You. I got it because of you, Clint.”

Clint had to remind himself to breathe. Her words echoed in his head - _because of you._ Natasha had marked herself with something that reminded her of him. He moved over to her on his knees and brought his hand up to her face, thumb resting the rounded edge of her chin. Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath and he could see the fear in her eyes. It was the same fear that he felt.

“Please let me see it, Tasha,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha only nodded and stood up. Her fingers curled up beneath the hem of her fitted black tank top and pulled the fabric up above her navel. Her spandex shorts rode dangerously low on her body, revealing the tattoo. The solid black lines still looked new, but had already healed. Clint was sure that Natasha could feel his breath against her skin as he leaned in to inspect the detailing. Goosebumps raised when he traced his index finger over the crosshairs. The skin was raised ever so slightly there, like a scar. He wanted so much more than this, but he wasn’t going to take anymore than she was willing to give him. With his heart pounding in his chest, Clint looked up at Natasha. 

“How long have you had this?” he asked.

“A year,” she replied.

“Why did you get it?”

Natasha appeared to choose her words carefully before she spoke, “Because you’ve marked me, Clint.”

His breath stuttered and he tightened his grip on her to keep himself steady. He could imagine how he looked down there, kneeling at her feet and staring up at her. Only for Natasha would he allow himself to be so submissive. Desperation coursed through his veins and his hands itched to feel the rest of her body, but he wasn’t going to move until she gave him permission. Her gaze was heavy against his skin, he felt it move over every inch of him. He looked up at her pleadingly.

“Please, Natasha,” Clint begged.

“‘Please,’ what?” Natasha demanded.

“Please let me feel the rest of you,” he said in the same needy voice. “Wanted this so long, but I need you to tell me that I can keep going.”

It was Natasha’s turn to let out a shuddery breath. She held his face between her petite hands. Those same hands he had witnessed handling weapons with flawless precision and take the life from more than one person in their time together. They were gentle and warm now as she gazed down at him.

“Touch me,” she told him.

Clint sighed with relief and leaned into her, pressing his mouth to the the tattoo. She made a quiet sound, a sharp intake of breath when his tongue traced its black lines. Just as he had imagined, Natasha’s skin was smooth between the raised edges of the design and she tasted faintly of salt. She held tightly onto his shoulders as he lavished attention upon that mark - his mark, forever imprinted upon her body.

Natasha stood still as Clint stood and removed her clothing, letting his hands run over the flesh he uncovered. He mouthed at her shoulder and moved toward her neck. “Let me kiss you, Tasha, please,” he whispered against her ear.

Natasha dragged his mouth up to her own, kissing him fiercely and tangling her fingers in his short hair. She tasted better than he could have imagined and Clint found himself quickly becoming addicted to her mouth. His hands moved down her back, around the firm curve of her ass and hooked under it to haul her up against him. Her breath huffed out against his lips and she looked at him in surprise. For a horrified second, Clint thought he had moved too fast, but then she grinned and tugged him back in for another kiss. 

Clint moved them back down to the mat, settling between her splayed legs. God, he needed her so badly. He needed to feel every inch of her, to know how she felt inside, to know how she came and what made her reach that point. Her hips rolled up against him and she made a quiet, pleading sound as he touched her.

“Need to be inside you, Tasha,” he begged against her lips. “Please.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” she gasped in response.

Clint made quick work of his clothes, reveling in the feel of her softness against his skin. He trailed his mouth down the column of her throat and over her full breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples until she was shivering. Pressed together as intimately as they were left little to the imagination. It made his thoughts swim know that the slick heat between her thighs was because of what he did to her. He slid two fingers into her pussy easily and she groaned, her own fingers digging into his skin as he pumped them in and out of her. Every sound he wrung out of her body made his cock throb painfully. She bucked against his hand, panting and groaning. This time, she was the one to beg.

“Please... _oh god, please_... want your cock not your fingers, Clint,” she pleaded.

“Fuck, I don’t have anything with me,” he said, coming to that horrible realization. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha told him. “We get all the same tests. Was yours clean?”

Clint nodded. “I haven’t been with anyone in years... not since.”

“Since you met me?” she added with a faint smile. 

“Yeah.”

Natasha leaned up, gently kissing him and cupped his face with one hand. He felt something other than lust well up inside of him as he opened his eyes and saw the look of pure trust and desire on his partner’s face. He can’t remember ever wanting another woman so badly in his life. Knowing that she wanted him and willingly branded herself because of him washed away any remaining doubts. With one hand on her left hip, Clint lined himself up and slid into her clinging warmth.

Just as they worked perfectly together in combat, they fell into the same rhythm, Natasha moving in counterpoint with his thrusts. He stole kisses between every movement, still needing to feel her mouth against his own. She wrapped her legs securely around his hips and he pulled her up onto his legs, her ass resting against the tops of his thighs. Natasha sighed as she sank back down onto his length and held his shoulders tightly, using them as leverage as she fucked herself on his cock. 

Clint hooked his arms up around her back, holding her as she thrust against him. She looked so beautiful like that, face knotted up in concentration, her plump red lips slack with the most beautiful, desperate sounds coming from them. He catalogued every one, how they changed with each touch and when he thrust a little too hard. She was shaking in his arms, just barely holding herself back.

“Please come for me, Tasha,” Clint begged.

With those words, Natasha let go with a loud cry that echoed off the walls of the gym. The strong muscles in her thighs trembling violently with the intensity of her orgasm. He felt her inner walls contract around his cock, almost fluttering. He gathered her close and her forehead came to rest against his own, arms wrapped around his shoulders as if she were holding onto him for dear life. She sobbed his name between ragged breaths and that was enough to set him off, coming so hard he actually saw stars. His cock throbbed as he spent himself inside of her body.

Clint wasn’t aware of much after that, but somehow they ended up curled up in the middle of the mat, arms still around each other. They were laying on their sides and Natasha’s head was tucked beneath his chin. For a while they didn’t speak, just enjoying the sound of each other’s breathing. His thoughts drifted back to the tattoo that had started this all.

“Got any other tattoos you want to tell me about?” Clint asked, trailing his fingers over the design.

Natasha laughed. “Can’t say that I do. Sorry. You?”

“No, but maybe if you ask nicely I might get one,” he said with a grin.


End file.
